2004 Queen City Marathon

Sunday, September 12, 2004, I realized one of my dreams -- I ran in a marathon.

Well, it was only the half marathon and not the full, but 21.1 kilometres is still nothing to sneeze at. Unless you're allergic to ragweed, and then I think a sneeze isn't just acceptable, it's practically required.

A while back -- April 14, 2003, to be precise -- I wrote about my buddy Colin Keess and how he became a bodybuilder in a delightful post titled "It Plays Music on Your Crotch". It, referring to bodybuilding, does not, of course, play music on your crotch; but it, referring to a musical vibrator, definitely does.

Anyway, Colin once told me that, following his bodybuilding career, which I believe lasted about 18 months, his next challenge was to enter the Queen City Marathon. What a great idea, I agreed, and the idea had stuck in my mind ever since.

I've always enjoyed running. As a kid I enjoyed it mostly because it allowed me some form of escape -- usually from some tough guy trying to steal my gyroscope. This is not to be confused with a gyro scope, which is a binocular-like device the Greeks use to find lunch and is pronounced with that guttural H sound that makes you spit all over everything.

As a teen I flirted with running like it was a sexy divorcee: I was definitely interested, but didn't know what the hell I was doing. And on occasion I had to change my pants before anything actually started.

Then, as an adult, I ran faithfully in the summers and sat placidly on my sofa all winter, waiting for the snow to melt so I could begin running again. My circuits were always about 5km, and I would go out a maximum of three times each week. I think I was most faithful to this schedule while I was living in Saskatoon; my downtown apartment and beautiful trail along the Meewasin facilitated getting out of the house and being active. Also, if you stood still in downtown Saskatoon for any length of time someone would try and panhandle from you. Better to just start running rather than lamely attempting to impersonate a foreign language.

At the end of last summer I decided I needed more running in my life, so I started late night runs from Al's house to the Southland Mall and back -- which MapBlast is kind enough to tell me is 7.4km. During those runs it felt like I was working the kinks out of things, as though my life were scrunched up like a used placemat, and each step unrolled a little bit and smoothed it out. I loved the way my body moved, the way my lungs sucked the air in just long enough to welcome its presence, then expelled it like an unwelcome guest. Of course, I hated how stiff I always was the next morning, and how my legs would scream at me as I shambled down the stairs; but how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Things got better as the running continued. You can only say "Ick habba jabba blabba" so many times before they catch on and start demanding a quarter.

Then, one day, Joe Daniels told me that the Sports Council needed some more coaches for their running club and asked if I'd be interested. And that's how I got involved with the Regina Aboriginal Kin Youth Running Club -- a great running club for at-risk youth with a terrible name that defies all my attempts to shorten it. I mean, isn't this a better name and a great logo for the club? I think the colour's a little off, but you'll get enough of the general gist to say, "Well done, Staffen" in my comments.

My original plan was to enter the full marathon this year, and be damned. Doubly damned, actually, as I was sure I'd drop dead somewhere along the 42.2km route. You see, I knew that 21km was within my reach -- I ran 7km in the Regina City Police Half Marathon Relay, I ran 10km often enough at the field house to get a feel for it, and I ran at least 15km at the 24-Hour Relay. 42km was the kind of Sisyphusian struggle I usually find myself embroiled in anyway, so why not leap in head first, heedless of consequence? A great and typically Deron plan, but terrible timing -- the federal election and Weir's campaign completely threw off my running schedule. But I still desperately wanted to be involved in the QCM this year, so it looked like the half was going to be it.

And, y'know, it was a good distance. And by good I mean gruelling. And by gruelling, I mean the 11th kilometre only. Every kilometre I made after 11 was hard won, sure, but that 11th kilometre had me questioning all of existence and why a loving God would subject me to such unyielding torment. I don't know why, but 11 was my sticking point. I made it 17km before I took an appreciable break in my run -- about five minutes -- and I also walked the length of the Albert Street bridge. No one but the QCM runners know this next bit, though -- I stopped and jumped with both feet on the lines of every kilometre marking after 11, conquering each one with a mighty stomp. I got a few laughs and a few stares, but what the hell, I needed to show those markers who the boss really was.

I developed a horrible pain in my right hip at about 13km, which I ignored as best I could for the remainder of the race. I limped a lot. At 15km I was passed by Kevin "Huggie" Bear, a member of our relay team. At the same time, I tried to keep pace with a woman whom I'd spoke to a little, only to find that I couldn't really move any faster than I already was. She left me behind, assuring me I`d catch her during her next walk break. I didn't see her again.

At 20km I tried to stretch my stride out a little, without much success. In every race I'd run so far, even my practice runs at the field house, I'd always somehow found the energy to show a strong finish. This time it seemed I was going to do my damnedest just to drag myself across the finish line -- and probably with my lips alone, as my legs were so achy I'm sure they thought about packing up and heading home without me, and I'd arrive hours later to find them nestled in a comfortable chair with a scholarly pipe and a copy of Esquire.

The final kilometre passed. I saw the finish line a mere 100 metres away. And I laughed! I laughed because I didn't have the strength for a final push, and I laughed because the signs and the race kit both said that you should smile whenever possible during the race, and I laughed because I had made it. At last. And the announcer, to my surprise, said, "Here comes Deron Staffen from Regina!" I threw my arms up into the air, and the people lining the sides of the road cheered.

And, somehow, I found the strength to run.

Not the relentless plodding I'd been doing for the last 10km, but an actual, full-out run. I heard a couple of people really cheer at that point, and I tilted my head back and stretched my legs out and pulled air into my tired lungs, and I raced hard until I'd crossed that damn finish line. And when I was done I could barely stand or speak, but I was done. And it was wonderful.

2:19:02. I was 738th out of 1034 participants. I placed 357th out of 406 men running the half marathon, and 110th out of 125 men in my age category. Not a great placing, but about what I expected, and something to build on for my next one. I will never be world class, but I will be competitive.

When I run I am often reminded of the final lines of King's novella The Long Walk:

Eyes blind, supplicating hands held out before him as if for alms, Garraty walked toward the dark figure.

And when the hand touched his shoulder again, he somehow found the strength to run.

This is often how it is: the strength you find comes from nowhere. Even though you're as dry as a cow skull in a cracked riverbed, and you know your reserves have all been tapped, it still bursts out at the last minute, like a sudden laugh. The little voice that's been telling you to stop gets snuffed like a stale cigarette, and your throbbing muscles are momentarily forgotten. Even the roaring crowds die away. The energy doesn't so much come out of you as through you, carrying you along so willingly on its currents, and the only things that exist are you and your destination; the rest is chaff before the wind. Upon reflection, I think these are the purest moments I've had in my life.

Of course, King's story doesn't end so nicely. But I guess I'm a bit of an optimist when it comes to running.